


Misplaced Man

by Bonfoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, HP: EWE, M/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonfoi/pseuds/Bonfoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had started having nightmares every full moon…<br/>In them, he was a ravening beast, insatiable, powerful and frightening – and he was in love with a sinister man, a dark, brooding man whose irascible façade hid the heart of a passionate lover!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misplaced Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_day_dawning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_day_dawning/gifts).



§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

**_ Disclaimer:_** The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life. 

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

His house was just that, _a house_. There was very little of a personal nature, very few clues to his past. If asked, his neighbors would say Remy St. John was a quiet man, a scholar of repute and a well-liked friend. In his spare time, he gardened (tea roses were his favorites) and wrote treatises on medieval mores and myths.

He had started having nightmares every full moon…in them, he was a ravening beast, insatiable, powerful and frightening—and he was in love with a sinister man, a dark, brooding man whose irascible façade hid the heart of a passionate lover! He awoke more and more often to sticky sheets and the scent of another man’s musk. The vestiges of dark images, of pinning his lover to the wall and entering him in one, dry, thrust had him alternately wincing and wishing. The phantom touch of sharp nails scrabbling over his ribs to dig into his skin had him looking in the mirror after his shower, searching for the evidence of such fervor…and hoping to feel it in his waking world. 

The dreams began to merge with Remy’s reality one day when a visiting professor, Dr. Stanislaus Severinac of Croatia, came to teach for the next semester. Remy’s mouth had dried as he saw the elegant hands of the professor flying through the air, describing the newest find on the island of Brioni. He had flashes of those same hands, this time tinted with yellow and green around the nails, stroking him, slapping at his flanks, urging him to fill, to be filled, to consummate their joining. The sound of the man’s voice—a rumbling voice that dipped and rumbled, accented by the Slavic sing-song cadence of Croatian—sent heat directly to Remy’s groin and had him excusing himself on a constant basis.

“Professor St. John?” Ray Grassmere, a new graduate student from England, called out, one arm waving madly. “Sir? I’ve got that research on theoretical were-creatures. I wanted to give it to you before Court, my boyfriend, and I go away for the week.” Remy hadn’t remembered asking for such research, but the past weeks _had been_ full of other thoughts.

“Fine, Mr. Grassmere. Just drop it off with my secretary and I’ll look it over.” Remy nodded and kept walking. He didn’t see Grassmere’s eyes flash grey and his hair lighten to pale blond at the distracted air; he didn’t notice the pencil in the graduate student’s fingers become a thin stick either.

As the stick came up, a dark hand—calloused, scarred and strong—pushed it down. “It will do no good, Mr. Grassmere.” Dr. Severinac’s accent had become that of an Englishman, clipped and harsh. “He is not responding as quickly as hoped, but soon he will.” The stick became a pencil once more and the two men began walking towards the quad, a place filled with rustling leaves and the calls of students…or were they?

* * *

That night, a call from Remy’s Aunt Athena upset him so that he took down a dusty bottle of Scotch, the pinched sides fitting into his hand like an old friend. He had once been a closet-drinker, but like all things, that had passed with time. Unfortunately, he was lost, torn between his waking world and the dark promise of his dreaming one. He poured three fingers of Scotch into a tumbler and downed half of it without a grimace, the burn shocking his system but pleasant nonetheless.

Leaving the bottle on the side table, Remy sat down and looked out over his rose garden. The silver roses he loved so well were dark and mysterious and seemed to glow in the gloaming, standing out from all the rest. He sipped at the rest of his Scotch, a warm, insulating feeling spreading out from his empty stomach. “Should have eaten, I guess,” he muttered. Tossing back the last bit of Scotch in the glass, he rose and again poured three fingers’ worth.

Turning toward the garden window, he thought he saw something in the glass. It was a man, shabby, ill-kempt, and scarred, but familiar somehow. The man’s eyes were blue—like his—but ringed with amber, lit by a glow from within. His hair was Remy’s—dark blond with streaks of white and grey—but shoulder-length, and wilder. His clothes were like something out of a movie, a mixture of new and old-fashioned, worn and patched cloak over denims and a shirt and cardigan. Remy almost dropped the tumbler when he saw the man smile…and the glint of overly-long canines shone over his lips. The image faded quickly and Remy swallowed his Scotch in one gulp, the liquor hitting his stomach with the force of a warm brick. 

“Damn!” he whispered.

* * *

“Hallo? Professor St. John, are you here?” A woman’s voice—young and husky—entered the office a few scant seconds before Charmaine Worth did. A consultant for some consortium, she was working with Remy on a medieval excavation in Scotland, going over books and journals found in a sealed niche. Barely stopping for breath, she continued, “Ah, there you! I’ve brought the Wolfsbane Codex for you. Took some doing, some professor’s son had it out of the Reserves and just returned it now. You might know him, Theodosius Severinac?” With a thump, a large leather-bound book hit his desk and dust smelling of age wafted into the air.

Remy took a deeper whiff and his mind suddenly shunted to his latest dream…

_His head was thrown back, neck bared and decorated with love-bites and what looked like the scraping of enthusiastic teeth. His shirt was open, his pants hanging from one ankle as his arse was pounded into the wall by his dark lover. The books at his back were moving, sliding as each one of them writhed against the bookshelves._

_He could feel himself rising to the surface on an orgasmic bubble and he wanted to take his lover with him, so he squeezed his sphincter, eliciting a groaned **Yes!** and more fervent thrusting, some of it striking Remy’s prostate and finally pushing him over the edge._

Charmaine waved a hand in front of Remy’s face, pleased that the _Open Mind_ powder had worked so well. She backed out of the room quietly, only glancing back once to see Remy’s dreamy expression change to one of sex fulfilled. She closed the door softly, the _snick_ of the lock slipping easily into the silence. Her husband was waiting for her, arm out and a proud smile on his face.

“C’mon, my lovely! I know that look, and you need to let Severinac know that it’s working.” He glanced down at her, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. “I think it’ll kill Grassmere to know we’ve come farther than he has.” He chuckled as Charmaine laughed. They turned down the hall, arm-in-arm, and seemed to fade into the shadows at the end of the hall

* * *

“Aunt Athena, I told you! I just want to take a break from teaching and research for a while.” Remy had been dreaded telling his only relative what he was about to do, but he’d known she would worry even more if he didn’t. He cradled the phone closer to his ear with his shoulder, a sure recipe for a sore neck but it was the only way to pack his bag while letting her know he was leaving.

“You’re being a fool, Remy,” came a dry, old voice. “You are a respected academician. You are sound of body and wind. You are not a child anymore, and you cannot run from your responsibilities.” Remy winced as the hard words flayed his spirit. “I do not see why you need to take this vacation at this time.”

“Aunt Athena, I know you love me. You raised me after Uncle Al died, after all. But I need to work out some things.” He stared toward the rose garden, his breath hitching as another image bloomed in the glass. “I’ve got to go, Auntie! The taxi will be here in minutes.” He hung up, uncaring if he hurt her feelings right then, since the foggy image in the glass had become his dream lover.

He was laid out like a feast on large bed. His cock bobbed and weaved as Remy’s head moved, tongue slipping out to taste, to mark, and then traveling on. There was a look of contented desire—something he’d never have thought would grace so dark and dangerous a visage—as Remy’s mouth closed over the head of his weeping prick. They both stilled for a moment and then Remy’s hands were pushing down writhing hips, his tongue and lips working over and around the meat in his mouth with slippery efficiency.

“It was always that way.”

Remy nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned away from the window. Stanislaus Severinac was standing in his living room, dressed in the clothes of Remy’s dream lover, an intent look on his face sharpening his features, and causing a curious tightening of Remy’s pants. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here? How did you get in here?” He didn’t want to know but he had to keep the freak talking while he thought up a way to escape.

A stick, much like the one he’d seen in his dreams, poked up out of the other man’s long sleeve and ribbons flew through the air to bind Remy. He fell with a curse and a shriek on his lips.

“As much as I enjoy this, and the memories it brings to mind, I must ask you to cease and desist, Lupin!” Severinac pointed his stick again and a plaster popped out and slapped itself over Remy’s mouth. “As much as I often wished to employ such crude actions, I find myself hoping that you will soon be yourself and we can put this episode in the past where it belongs.” He waved the stick in a complex pattern and Remy rose through the air to bob at his side.

“Your son thinks this has gone on long enough, you know.” The tone was conversational, but Remy could have cared less. He squirmed, sending himself into the wall and bruising his arm. “Tsk, tsk, Lupin. Let your mind be open and just allow us to bring you home,” Severinac said drily. They walked up the stairs, Remy bouncing from wall to rail and back again as they ascended. When they reached the landing, cool fingers traced over a small scar on Remy’s cheek…and then they pushed him through the doorway and into his room.

“If Malfoy would have had his way, you would be writhing in pain on a bed of nails, but cooler heads prevailed.” Severinac waved the stick and Remy’s bound body settled gently on the covers of his bed. He watched with wide eyes as the other man began disrobing, the stick never leaving a hand as the cloak, then the shirt, boots, socks, and finally trousers were laid out on a convenient chair. Remy felt hot as he looked at the body he’d been dreaming of for so long. He could almost remember how it felt to nip at the skin of Sev’s hips, fingers playing between those lean buttocks, one of them slipping into an already stretched hole to press the most wonderful button of a prostate and draw whimpers of pleasure from those sarcastic lips.

“I see your body remembers mine even if your mind doesn’t.” Severinac crawled onto the bed and sat with one leg on either side of Remy’s hips, his jutting cock and heavy balls separated from Remy’s by the ribbons and Remy’s clothes. “If I roll my hips just _so_ …” Remy almost bit his tongue as a spark of pure lust exploded in his crotch. “And I press myself thusly…” He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but those were certainly stars zooming across their closed surfaces.

Thin, cool lips pressed against Remy’s…when had the plaster been removed? He didn’t think, didn’t dwell on the bondage or the strangeness, he only knew those lips were from his most passionate dreams…and those lips promised so much that he desired. Remy kissed back for all he was worth, his neck craned up at an awkward angle that was relieved when Sev leaned closer to slip that cutting tongue inside and map every tooth in Remy’s head. His hips began thrusting up, meeting Sev’s rolling hips as they pushed down, and suddenly, there were naked arms around him.

In the blink of an eye, Remy rolled over and pinned Sev underneath him. “Sev…” he breathed out as he pressed soft kisses to his cheeks and licked over shell-like ears. “My Sev…My Severus…” Remy moaned as he felt cool air on his back and shoulders. “Fuck me,” he begged. Remy leaned back, “Make me Remus again.”

The joy of hearing those words after so long earned Remus an open-mouthed kiss and several rolls of narrow hips and an engorged prick sliding against his. They both moaned as droplets of pre-come slicked their heated skin, easing the motions. “In me…” begged Remus, “Anoint me from within, Severus.”

Remus untangled one arm and tried to ready himself. The one finger he could get in was joined by two lotion-covered ones. The three fingers wove together inside Remus, loosening more than muscle and sinew. Maneuvering himself so that he was on his knees over Severus, Remus reached back and with excruciating slowness impaled himself on his dream lover’s cock until his balls were resting on the curly hairs of Severus’ groin.

Squeezing his channel so that it rippled around Severus, Remus watched his lover’s eyes cross and then close, the _guh-nuh_ sound he tried to keep inside making him smirk and then rise up, and then slowly slide down, over and over. 

“Damn you, Lupin!” whimpered Severus as his fingers clenched and dug into Remus’ flanks. “Drive a man to madness with that arse, you will!” He thrust up, breaking Remus’ steady rhythm and beginning a pounding one of his own.

With each thrust, each brush against his prostate, Remus remembered more and more of his true life…He remembered fighting almost to the death with Severus. He remembered Teddy’s first words and Severus’ proud look when they were “Da Sev”. He remembered Minerva McGonagall’s disgust at their liaison and her vile curses that tore him from his family.

A strange feeling in his head… Remus looked down, clenched and then sat determined on Severus’ twitching cock. “Legilimency, Severus?” He crooked an eyebrow, learned from his lover, and began riding Severus for all he was worth, rewarding him in action if not in words. The motions were wild and wicked, and Severus’ hands smoothed and urged and clasped, his head turning from side-to-side as Remus pulled him headlong into a blinding orgasm. As Severus pumped into his lover’s arse, Remus came in stuttering gouts over his stomach, warm pearls smearing as he leaned down to share desperate kisses.

It could have been minutes or hours, neither one cared, before they separated and Severus Summoned his wand to clean them for the moment. Remus felt the dribbles of come down his legs disappear, missing that connection to Severus but knowing that it would now be his any time he wanted it. They lay together, still warm and glowing in the aftermath. Severus’ fingers carded through the triangle of hair on Remus’ chest and began to explain in a relaxed voice….

“We underestimated the ire of a great many witches and wizards who’d fought for the Light. McGonagall had been our champion at one time and then something happened. We haven’t found the trigger, but she cursed you into this existence.” Severus turned his head and looked into Remus’ eyes—blue eyes that now had an amber ring around the irises—and kissed the scar on his cheek. “She told us she was retiring, going away to be with family. It took Hermione Weasley a month to decode letters and books she’d left behind.” He drew Remus closer, his hands smoothing up and down, pausing only to trace old scars.

“So, she became my Aunt Athena and I became a dowdy, dry history professor, eh?” Remus huffed as he laughed into Severus’ throat. “What was it she wanted from us? Or, rather, from me?” His breath was warm and sweet across Severus’ skin, stirring his blood once more so that it was difficult to think let alone answer, but he tried.

“She was heartbroken that Albus had been Grindelwald’s lover, and that he’d had no passion for her. Seeing us, perhaps even equating my darkness to Gellert and your sweetness to Albus, she seems to have decided we ‘would lead the world to darkness’ if we stayed together. I quote one of the journals the Weasleys found after she’d vanished with you.”

Idly flicking Severus’ right nipple, Remus asked, “So, Grassmere was Draco Malfoy, and Charmaine Worth was Hermione Weasley. Did I ever meet Harry or Teddy in this construct?” He wasn’t as interested in the answer as he would be, given that Severus’ hands were massaging his back and buttocks in return. “What say we shelve this q-and-a for later, when we’ve clothes and company to keep my hands off your delectable body, hmm?” he muttered.

Severus’ answer was a kiss. Remus felt it deep inside, filling him with the rightness of it all and making his nightmares into the memories they truly were.

“I want to make love to you, Severus. I want to fuck you with all the passion in my heart and my loins and I want to watch you scream as I fill you…over and over,” Remus whispered. Severus’ eyelids drooped as he arranged himself for Remus’ pleasure, his own long fingers already working to loosen his anus for Remus’ thicker cock. His legs were splayed out, an open invitation for Remus to mouth a map of them or tongue a slippery trail over them; he chose to do both. When he came to Severus’ pumping hand, he pulled it out, whispered an Internal Cleaning spell, and pushed his tongue inside.

“Gods!” Severus screeched. Remus had the strongest tongue of anyone Severus had kissed and to be on the receiving end of such an intimate act always drove him mad. “Oh, how can you love me so much to do that?” he cried.

Remus pulled himself away, but not before rubbing his nose along both sides of Severus’ balls, mouthing them in passing. He kneeled up, moved closer and pushed inside with slow thrusts until he was balls-deep Severus’ arse. “It’s the most intimate kiss I can share. It’s yours, only yours,” he said as he began a steadily-increasing thrusting.

* * *

In Azkaban, in a cell that had two windows facing the ocean, Minerva McGonagall sat still as stone. She didn’t see the waves crashing, she didn’t hear the gulls crying and then exploding as they impinged on the wards. Her world was focused on the dark crystal ball in her lap. They had let her bring it with her when they sentenced her to life within the dark fortress.

Wrinkled fingers stroked over its crazed surface as she rocked back and forth, muttering. “He was mine to protect. Mine to comfort. My boy, my boy.”

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading. ~~~_

**Author's Note:**

> The players: Remy St. John (Remus John Lupin); Stanislaus Severinac (Severus Snape); Harcourt P. Robb (Harry Potter); Charmaine Worth (Hermione Weasley); Rob Worth (Ron Weasley); Theodosius Severinac (Teddy Lupin-Snape); Ray Grassmere (Draco Malfoy-Potter); Athena St. John (Minerva McGonagall)


End file.
